


The Man in the Street

by Magnolie



Series: Ten, Twenty-Five, a Hundred Lifetimes [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, New York City, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnolie/pseuds/Magnolie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Is it a stranger Bilbo meets in the street? Or someone he was looking for his whole life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man in the Street

**Author's Note:**

> So, I needed to get this out of my head. I have 2,000 words written for the next Chapter of [Fides et Veritas](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1153554/chapters/2339166), but this one just wanted out, so, here you go.

_this one is to Chelsea_

* * *

Isn’t it funny? Funny how we tend to forget those small, everyday encounters?  
  
Really, whenever they were looking for a missing kid, there were people who remembered a _young woman, wearing a black leather jacket and red pumps that at six pm left the New York library, destination unknown_ – how can they? Don’t we forget strangers as soon as we they leave our eyesight? Isn’t it, that sometimes we don’t even realize their presence at all? Think of yesterday. When you crossed the street, maybe left the supermarket, school or work. Do you remember anyone? Anyone in particular? Do you remember the _young woman in the black leather jacket_? Or maybe the old man with the gray hat? Do you remember the face of the cashier? Her hair color? Or was it a man? Are you sure at all? How could you. Of course, some of us are particularly gifted when it comes to faces or remembering people. But for every stranger we encounter, and that is a promise, there will be another stranger we do not even remember was there at all.

So if I told you that the stranger Bilbo Baggins encountered on Madison Avenue on Friday afternoon, had shared his train when Bilbo was travelling from London to Edinburgh in 2007? That they had ate at the same restaurant in Downtown fifty-two times, sitting almost next to each other but never realizing the other was there? That they had even stayed in the same hotel _twice_ – once in Hongkong and once in Boston, even on the same floor? That they had sat next to each other at the ballet – and never noticed any of this until this very day – would you believe me? Let me tell you, it _is_ true. But that were not the encounters that made it feel so familiar.

Because, on this wonderful and gleaming Friday afternoon in fall, when Bilbo walked down Madison Avenue, he did not think of any of this. He had forgotten the train ride and he had been to the ballet so many times he couldn’t possibly remember anything beyond the performance. He had only just left the office, his mind still working on the parameters of a settlement. He was tired, it had been a busy week and he was still suffering from a heavy jetlag. Bilbo could not wait to catch a cab down the street and drive back home. A good novel and a recipe of the Foie Gras they served at his favorite restaurant were waiting for him at home. All he wanted was, for two days, to forget about work, stay in and be left in peace.

The beginning of his weekend was tested, however, when his phone started ringing. Not his personal device, no, the office-phone. For a second he considered not taking the call and leaving the caller to his mail box, but if it was about the settlement, he needed to know it now, so he rifled through his bag nervously, finding his phone inside one of the pockets.

“Yes?” He answered it, his voice loud and breathless. It was his assistant, asking him to come back.

“No, I just left the office, I’m on my way home,” he told her.

She objected.

“Fanny, it’s five on a Friday afternoon, court has closed, tell him to relax over the weekend, you won’t reach anyone at Maurer Consulting now anyway.”

Bilbo moaned. His client must have turned nervous about the settlement and wanted to talk to him.

“Fanny, tell him to meet me on Monday morning, I’ll be there at eight, but I won’t come back now.”

There was no – really no – reason on earth he would turn around and walk back into his stuffy office and talk to his client on the phone for an hour, calming the man down. Even he needed a break now and then.  
As Fanny still continued to talk, almost chewing his ear off, Bilbo turned to look over his left shoulder, back to the office building down the street. It was maybe three blocks, but three blocks too far.

 _He really didn’t want to go back_ , he thought before he felt a hot liquid pour over his upper body and ground somehow shifting while he was clashing against something, or more precisely someone.

Bilbo stumbled but managed not to fall, also because that someone had gripped his arm.

“I am so sorry! I thought you’d see me!” His opposite exclaimed.

Bilbo looked at his shirt. The better part of it had turned light-brown and wet.

He looked up, right into the eyes of the stranger that had hit him. He was startled for a moment. They were iron blue, worried and ever so familiar.

“Don’t…” he had to clear his throat, “… worry.”

“Are you sure? Did I burn you?” The stranger asked.

“No, no, I’m fine, you actually just saved my weekend,” Bilbo chuckled and showed him to wait a moment, talking back into his phone.

“Someone just poured coffee over me, Fanny, I’ll see him on Monday,” he ended the call without saying good bye.

“Are you really sure? I probably ruined that shirt,” the man said, moaning and scrutinizing Bilbo.

“It’s just a shirt, please don’t worry,” he tried a smile.

The strange man nodded, scratching his head and dropping his gaze.

“Do-do I know you from somewhere? I’m really bad at faces,” Bilbo asked as he collected himself and packed the phone away.

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t know from where,” the stranger smiled. It wasn’t a wide smile, but it was warm and genuine.

Still, Bilbo couldn’t fight the feeling. Those blue eyes seemed so strangely familiar and the feeling of the hand on his arm (yes, it was still there) felt, as if he had felt it a hundred times before.

“Are you sure?” Bilbo let out a small, startled laugh.

“To be honest, it was a rough day, I might be wrong, but I think I would remember someone like-,” he seemed to have swallowed his last word and awkwardly took his hand away. Bilbo had to chuckle.

“Anyway,” the stranger seemed to have found his voice again after a silent while, “please send me the bill for the dry cleaning!” He fumbled for a business card in his suit pocket and added: “I insist!” when he had found it.

“It’s really just a shirt,” Bilbo wanted to object, but the man’s look told him to stop.

“Please.”

“Alright,” Bilbo gave him a nod and took the card, “sorry about your coffee.”

The man laughed. It was a small laugh again, silent and deep, but it touched something very deep down inside Bilbo, as if it had rung through his whole life; a sense a déjà vu, maybe.

They eventually parted with another smile accompanied by a nod.

Bilbo caught a cab down the street, turning around once more and looking back. The man was still standing in the street sideways, his gaze fixed on Bilbo.  
He showed him another smile before Bilbo climbed into the car.

 

 _So, let me ask you again_. Do you remember the people that sit next to you at a restaurant? Or the people you share a row with at the ballet? Or the people that sat opposite you on the train? When Bilbo finally sat inside that cab and turned around the business card, that had _Oakenshield_ neatly written on it, he was still sure he knew the man. The only thing he couldn’t fathom was from where.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Chelsea](http://graceblackthorn.tumblr.com/), who beated this :)


End file.
